


A Soft Sound

by wavery



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Couch Sex, M/M, Sappy Sex, basically no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavery/pseuds/wavery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matty and George fuck on their sofa, in the gist of it. No plot except they love each other and I find new ways to disgust myself on a daily basis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soft Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this is my first fic and it's quite shabby, but it's something. Mainly inspired by drabbles/asks from Ezra themattyhealy and Alice pansexualmatty on tumblr. This was written in 45 minutes so I'm sorry tbh.

It was their first quiet night in ages, the first night in about a week that wasn’t interrupted by parties and events and friends trying desperately to catch up with them. Neither of them minded a quiet night, though, because after two years of touring, quiet nights were hard to come by.

It was nice, sitting in their living area, watching some stupid film about an unlikely romance, with Matty’s head laying in George’s lap and George’s fingers running through Matty’s mop of hair. The two of them were dressed in ridiculous comfort clothes, of course, Matty choosing brightly colored pj pants and a grey jumper. They hadn’t spoken in an hour or so, just enjoyed the quiet and listening to the movie playing. It wasn’t a good movie, per se, but it had some redeemable qualities so they didn’t turn it off. Besides, what else would they do? They’d forgotten what to do, how to function, when they weren’t making music or playing shows or fuck else.

  
Matty let out a sigh, and George couldn’t tell if it was content or if it was derived from exasperation. “You alright, love?” He whispers, looking down at the singer in his lap. He knew how tired he got, and, fuck, he got tired, too, but it was never so severe.

  
Matty nods. “Yeah. ‘Course.” He sounded calm enough, didn’t have that tone that always made George worry and get a pang of fear in his stomach, and he’d been doing fine since they’d gotten off tour.

  
“Right,” is all George says in response. “‘Course.”

  
Matty shifts awkwardly to sit upright besides George, stares at him and raises an eyebrow, and even in the dark, George can see the smile playing on the edge of his lips and, God, did he look pretty, always did. His hair was falling in his face and his lips were all wet and it was causing George to remember how fucking in love with his best friend he was. They weren’t together proper, not really. Neither of them felt the need to use words like boyfriend or significant other, because they were so magnetically attracted to each other that it didn’t matter to them. And even if it had mattered, both of them were too fucking scared to do anything about it.

  
“C’mere,” George mutters, grabbing at Matty’s jaw and bringing him closer until the smaller of the two was climbing into the other’s lap and their lips were meeting. It wasn’t as hungry as either of them were used to, they didn’t have a time limit like they did on the bus or at venues. It was soft and needy and Matty was melting into George’s lips. George’s hand moved from Matty’s jaw to his little waist and pulled him closer, making sure he didn’t fall off the couch, because that was the last thing he wanted.

  
Matty was typically all sharp edges and defiance. He knew what he wanted and he was stubborn, but with George he was pliant and soft. Always had been, since they were teenagers. Neither of them understood it, but after all, they hadn’t really tried all that hard to.

  
“I want you, please,” Matty was whispering as he pulled his lips away. “Please.” His voice was soft and yearning and nearly silent under the sound of that movie playing in the background. His eyes were wide and begging, and if George could resist him before, now that was just impossible.

  
“Of course, love,” George is saying, reaching for the hem of Matty’s jumper. “Here or in the bedroom?”

  
“Here will do. Let me ride you?”

  
Typically, they ended up with Matty’s face pressed into the hotel pillow, whimpering as George used him to get off. George would press his fingers into the soft skin of Matty’s hip until they left smudges of bruised skin that George would bask in later. It was always rough and lustful but right now, that wasn’t what Matty wanted.

  
So George nodded and felt his cock twitch. “Yeah, yeah. You can ride me, if that’s what you’d like.”

  
It’s awkward getting undressed and Matty nearly falls off George’s lap and onto the floor, so he stands up, cursing at ruining the moment, while George goes to find the lube. Once they’re undressed, it’s all a blur, slick fingers stretching Matty out while he sits facing George with his legs on either side of George’s. It’s too quick and it sort of aches but he doesn’t care at this point, just wants to feel George inside of him. He didn’t care if he’d be sitting awkwardly for the next few days.

  
“You ready for me?” George is muttering in Matty’s ear, scissoring his fingers in the tight muscle. It would never stop amazing him, how well Matty took it. And he looked so pretty, still, while doing it.

  
Matty nods desperately as George is slicking up his cock, eyes closing softly. “Yes. Please.” His voice is broken and he anchors himself into George with his hands on his shoulders as the drummer places the lube on the opposite side of the couch and lines himself up and breathes in deep. “Just hurry.”

  
George pulls Matty down halfway and the singer makes a wet gasp and then groans. George hisses at the heat and tightness and it feels so right he sees stars. Even after all this time, Matty had a difficult time adjusting to the stretch of it all. George wasn’t really small by any means. He could never bring himself to grind down all the way, and George always had to help him.

  
“Are you doing alright?” George groans, bringing one hand down to wrap his long fingers around Matty’s slim left thigh and stroke his hip in some attempt to comfort him. The other hand goes up to grab a handful of dark, curly hair.

  
Matty nods, jaw going slack and eyes pressing shut, because even through the pain, it feels so right and so good and he feels so close to George, and then he’s burying his face into George’s neck, pressing wet, open lips against his pulse. George’s grip tightens in his hair as he brings Matty down the rest of the way. George coos to Matty, “you’re doing so well, baby” as he grinds up into him. Matty lets out little gasps and moans, digging his fingers into George’s shoulders.

  
“You can fuck me properly, you know,” Matty manages after a few more moments of grinding. “I can handle it, I want you to.” His voice sounds so wrecked, even he notices, and it makes George’s stomach twist and he involuntarily twitches and thrusts into Matty a little roughly. The singer makes a filthy, drained sound in response. He reaches down to stroke his own neglected cock, but it feels like background noise, a pleasant buzz in the overwhelming sensation of being proper fucked.

  
George can’t help himself after that, and starts to fuck him harder, bringing Matty down with strong arms to meet his own thrusts. Matty loses it then, goes limp in the drummers arms. He can feel himself being close, and George brings the hand that was holding his thigh to wrap around Matty’s waist to support him better as the thrusts get more rough.

  
Matty comes between them with a sound that sounds similar to a sob, gasping and begging into George’s neck. He hasn’t opened his eyes this whole time, couldn’t bring himself to. George holds him throughout the orgasm, as his little thighs tremble and he’s blubbering nonsense.

  
“Ride it out, baby, I’m almost there,” George says as the heat bubbles in his stomach. “Almost there, just a little longer.” Matty got overstimulated quickly, always had a difficult time getting fucked afterwards, but always managed, because he just took it. George pulls Matty’s head closer to him, feels his forehead press against his neck, and holds the smaller of the two still. He makes this god forsaken groaning noise as he comes inside Matty. Matty whimpers at the hot, wet feeling.

  
They sit in silence for what seems like an hour, but most only have been five minutes.

  
“Are you good?” George asks finally. He’s going limp inside Matty, now, but can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

  
Matty rolls his head against George’s shoulder, trying to find the strength to use his neck and lift his head. He lets out a wrecked laugh. “Yeah. Was good.”

  
“Look at me.”

  
Matty lifts his head, eyelids dropping from exhaustion, and pink lips all bitten and hanging open. He’s got spit on either side of his mouth.

  
George smiles and brings a hand up to cup Matty’s jaw softly, using his thumb to stroke the side of his mouth. Matty always looked the definition of beautiful after being fucked, all damp and pretty with his hair in his eyes and his lips swollen and his chest rising and falling like that. “God, I fucking love you.” George doesn’t think about the words, they just slip out, and Matty breaks out into a smile and runs his hands through George’s hair.

  
“I love you, too.”

  
George leans in to kiss him, vaguely aware of how uncomfortable it was with his fucking limp ass dick still inside Matty, but they were so in the moment that he didn’t care. “Shower with me,” he’s murmuring into the kiss.

  
“Carry me, my legs are fucking Jell-O.”

  
“You’re fuckin’ pathetic.”

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly use their names too much but I didn't want any confusion as to who I was referencing so I'm sorry again. My bad. I'll practice.


End file.
